


This Year

by LadyWynne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 15:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13238193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: It's the feast of the new year.  Sansa doesn't like hiding her feelings.  Sandor POV





	This Year

 

Sansa sparkled, she glowed.  Sandor watched as she spun gracefully on the dance floor, her gorgeous red hair and embroidered gown shimmering.  She smiled and laughed.  _Bloody beautiful,_ he thought.

She had come into her own since returning to Winterfell.  Sansa was always regal and capable in public, but tonight she was also more relaxed, the perfect hostess.  For this festive evening, she had a special gown made.  It was fine linen in dark blue with sleeves that touched the floor.  The pale blue undertunic was in the Northern fashion, close at neck and wrist, but it was shaped from something gauzy and light rather than the usual wool.  The ensemble brought out her eyes and was delicately embroidered in silver thread over the bodice and in wide strips along the hem and sleeves.  She wore her hair piled high around a delicate silver coronet.  It was the Feast of the New Year. Most of the North’s lords had gathered to rejoice in what would hopefully become the first year of a long peace.  The revelries would continue through most of the night.

Sandor took another drink of wine and leaned back against the stone wall.  He was perfectly content to watch.  In fact, he could watch her all night.  Sandor and Sansa had been together privately since the war with the Others, almost a year.  It was an open secret, everyone at Winterfell knew what they meant to each other, but not everyone else did.  In public, they still observed a certain formality. This was mostly Sandor’s doing.  He knew that despite his status as a war hero most lords would not consider him a fit consort for the Queen in the North.

When the minstrels finished their song, Sansa broke away politely and made her way over to him, smiling and red-cheeked.  “It’s almost the new year, won’t you join me Sandor?”

“Not at the dance, unless you want me trampling all over your new dress,” he rasped.

She gave him an insincere pout.  He saw she was slightly drunk and grinned.

“You can’t blame a lady for trying.” She grabbed a cup and took his arm as they mounted the dais together.  He moved behind her as she turned to address the room. 

“My Lords and Ladies.  The maester informs me a new year is upon us.  I am joyful that you are here to see it in with me.  May this year beget peace, good fortune, and the start of a long summer.  To the North!”

“To the North!” the crowd echoed and everyone drank and cheered. Amidst more cheers and calls of “To the Queen!” and “Winterfell!” and “Queen Sansa!” people turned to kiss their loved ones robustly. Sansa turned to Sandor and their eyes met.  Sansa hesitated, gazing up at him for a long moment.  When he made no move she finally lowered her eyes and sighed. 

Sandor watched the joy leave her.  She turned to those around them, Bran and Sam and others, tapping cups together and exchanging hugs.  Then she descended to the floor and gracefully allowed her hand to be kissed by blushing young lordlings while the ladies curtsied.  She went far beyond the salt, and gave everyone a moment of her time. 

Sandor sighed now.  He knew her well, and he could see it was only duty that moved her now.  _Fuck it all_ , he grumbled to himself. He knew he had dampened the entire evening for her.  He longed to give her what she had silently asked for, but it was impossible.  _Damn it girl. You knew it couldn’t happen._   His mouth twitched in aggravation.

Sandor watched as Sansa finished circling the room and quietly made her exit out a side door.  She never glanced his way.  He left through another door and his long legs caught up with her before she even started up the steps to her tower.  When Sansa saw him, she lifted her chin and her skirts, starting up the stairs.

“Little bird,” he started. 

She didn’t turn.  “Go back to the feast.”

He kept pace with her easily.  “Sansa, you know I couldn’t.”  She still didn’t turn, but climbed faster.

Sandor had had enough. Grabbing her elbow, he spun her around and backed her into an alcove.  She glared, but before she could get a word out he forced her chin up and kissed her.  It was fierce and hard.  He had his left hand on the wall by her head and with his right he pulled her against him roughly.   Breaking away, but not releasing her, he put his mouth next to her ear. “Is that what you wanted, Your Grace?”

Sansa let out a tremulous breath. “It is, Ser.”

“I’m not a knight,” Sandor growled, nipping at her exposed neck.  Wrapping his arms around her fully he kissed her again.  It was just as passionate, but less harsh.  She put her hands on the velvet of his good doublet, tilting her head back for him.  She was warm and soft and utterly lovely. The kiss went on for long moments.  This time when they separated she was smiling.  _There’s my girl._   Sandor saw how much she wanted him. Right then he knew another year couldn’t pass the way the last one had.  He would have to make his feelings known to all, or leave her, and he could not leave.  _This year she’ll be mine before gods and men._ This year, queen or no, he would marry Sansa Stark.


End file.
